The forest was quiet now, but its silence carried weight. Hoj guided Mandle back toward the bungalow, his grip firm, his eyes scanning the shadows as though expecting the beast to return. Yet the danger was not in the trees—it was in the boy himself. Mandle walked beside his father, his steps slower than before. His mismatched eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, catching reflections that should not have been there. He no longer looked at the butterflies with innocent wonder; instead, he watched the forest itself, as if listening to whispers only he could hear. "Papa," he said suddenly, his voice calm, almost distant. "The beast knew me. It said I am the one."
Hoj's heart clenched. He stopped, kneeling to face his son. "You are my child," he said firmly, his voice trembling with both love and fear. "Nothing else matters. Do you hear me? Nothing." But Mandle only tilted his head, his gaze drifting past his father toward the barrier. "It is waiting," he murmured. "I can feel it beneath the ground. It breathes with me."
Hoj pulled him close, desperate to shield him from words that felt too heavy for a child. Yet as he held Mandle, he felt the faint tremor beneath the soil again—steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat echoing through the earth. Far away, in the city, the High Council poured over the ancient scroll. Its parchment was cracked, its ink faded, the words half-written. What remained spoke of a child, of wings, of calamity—but the rest was lost to time. One elder whispered, "The prophecy is incomplete. We guard only fragments. What if the missing words speak of salvation, not destruction?" But the City Lord, listening from the shadows, smiled. "No," he said softly. "What you guard is not truth—no, not the full truth. The scroll is broken, and I will finish it. The child has already begun to change. Soon, he will belong to me."
Back at the bungalow, Hoj laid Mandle down to rest. The boy's eyes fluttered shut, but his breathing was strange—deep, resonant, almost echoing the beast's growl. Hoj sat beside him, sleepless, staring into the night. The butterfly returned once more, landing on the window frame. Its wings shimmered faintly, then folded, as if keeping watch. And in the distance, beyond the barrier, the beast stirred again. The boy was no longer just a child. He was becoming something more.